Bashful, Vivian buried her face in the large expanse of his hard chest covered by a layer of stark fur. As usual, the beast was utterly shameless and a master at putting her into embarrassing situations.
"Do you detest the idea of being mine, little wolf?" The Lycan teased, his claws tenderly coursing through the strands of her hair.
Vivian was perfect where she was. She belonged there. In his arms, where no one would dare touch her.
The icy night air rustled his fur, but it was a cold sensation that he welcomed regardless. Relating the history of the cursed Lycans was far more unsettling than he expected.
It was a time of darkness and ruin. A time he lived through and no longer possessed much memory of.
After all, he was a spirit born of the primordial beast power the humans sought. Gaining a conscience and mind of his own, he emerged from the remnants of beast spirits lurking within that power.
